A/N: I know some of you questioned Lisbon's behavior in the last chapter, but my only explanation is, she trusted Earl, and didn't want to jeopardize Jane's plan to become a part of Red John's network. Her spidey senses are definitely tingling however, and hopefully you will appreciate where I'm going in this chapter. My heartfelt gratitude again for all the amazing reviews you've been blessing me with. You guys rock.
Chapter 6
Luther Wainwright looked around the table at what remained of his Serious Crimes Unit, his heart heavy. It was just before quitting time, and he'd received a call from a Chief Warren Two Guns from the Las Vegas Police Department. Wainwright was a little in shock at the horrible news from the chief, and dreaded having to inform the team. He took a deep, steadying breath.
"What's up, Boss?" asked Rigsby, his brow furrowing in concern.
"I'm afraid it's about Agent Lisbon. Apparently her body was found by a maid in a Las Vegas hotel room."
Van Pelt gasped, her hand going to her mouth.
"What?" said Rigsby.
Cho listened quietly, though his heart was pounding, his mind racing.
"Everything is preliminary," Wainwright continued, "but the body of a woman was found on the bed, shot in the face. Lisbon was registered as the only occupant of the room, her personal belongings, weapon, and CBI ID were all found intact in the room. For some reason, she was wearing a blonde wig. Now, there was some speculation about the strangeness of the crime scene. Local PD believes the woman was killed somewhere else, brought to Lisbon's hotel room, then staged with fake blood to look like the murder was committed there. Lividity indicates she'd been dead about two days. I'm waiting to hear if her fingerprints match Lisbon's."
By then, tears were coursing down Van Pelt's pale cheeks, and Rigsby had pulled her rolling chair gently to his. She leaned against him while he patted her back gently, crying quietly.
"What was she doing in Vegas?" asked Rigsby, his own eyes bright with emotion.
"Well, this might explain it." Wainwright turned around the laptop on the table before him to show the picture frozen on the screen. It was Patrick Jane leaving Lisbon's hotel room and walking toward the stairwell. The team leaned forward in their chairs. The curly hair and familiar suit gave them no doubt it was Jane. Wainwright forwarded it a few minutes ahead until the maid could be seen with her bundle of towels.
"Another funny thing. The rest of the hallway surveillance footage from today was completely wiped."
"The police are saying Jane did this?" said Van Pelt in disbelief. "No way."
"We were all witness to how off balance Jane was six months ago," said Wainwright. "He's been in hiding all this time. Maybe he's gotten into some stuff he didn't want Lisbon to be a part of. And when she found him…well…this footage is pretty damning."
"No," said Cho. "I just talked to him this morning. He and Lisbon were fine. The body can't be Lisbon's."
Three sets of eyes skittered to Cho in surprise.
Wainwright nodded, as if something suddenly clicked. "Well, that explains that little mixup with Chief Two Guns of Las Vegas PD. He'd had his secretary call this office, looking for the Agent in Charge. The chief was surprised when I told him my name wasn't Cho."
"I spoke to him too, yesterday," Cho confessed.
"Maybe you'd better tell us everything you know, Agent Cho," said Wainwright coldly.
With much trepidation, Cho did.
Naturally, everyone was pretty pissed off at him.
"Jane faked his whole breakdown to get to Red John?" said Van Pelt, outraged.
"Yeah."
"Why couldn't you tell us, man?" said Rigsby, his voice heavy with betrayal.
"Lisbon told me to keep it quiet. I respected her wishes."
"How do you explain Lisbon's apparent death then?" asked Wainwright. "Do you know anything about what's going on with this body?"
"No."
"I don't believe you," said Wainwright.
A rare flash of anger lit Cho's dark eyes.
"I was as shocked as you to hear about it," said Cho, nodding to the laptop screen.
He wouldn't stoop to defending himself more. He'd done what Lisbon had asked him to, out of both his loyalty to Lisbon as his boss and his loyalty to her as a friend. Everyone who mattered would believe him.
"Cho wouldn't lie about something like this," said Rigsby matter-of-factly. "As pissed as I am right now, I know he would have told us if he thought something was really wrong."
"He would," agreed Van Pelt. Her color had returned since Cho's assurance that the body couldn't be Lisbon's. Cho nodded in appreciation of his friends' support.
"Now what?" asked Cho.
"We go to Vegas to give some insight into the local investigation," said Wainwright. "Obviously, someone wanted to make it look like Lisbon was dead, and they're setting Jane up for it. And if Red John is involved, we'll impress upon Vegas PD that we are best qualified to take over the case. The FBI will want to be in on this too, of course."
The others groaned internally.
"We can handle this, Boss," said Rigsby. "Why bother getting the Feds involved if Vegas allows us to help with the case?"
"Look, the FBI is watching us. We need to be open about everything, especially any new Red John developments. I'll notify Susan Darcy of what's going on. Meantime, Van Pelt, make our plane reservations. We want to be in Vegas as soon as possible."
They rose from the conference table, but Wainwright stopped Cho. The others went about their business, but glanced nervously back at their friend.
"There will be consequences for your secrecy, Cho," said Wainwright quietly. "I'm not sure what yet, but I need you in Vegas. Can I trust you to be straight with me from now on?"
"Yes sir," said Cho with appropriate deference.
"Good."
As Wainwright left, Cho met Rigsby's eyes across the room. Their expressions were equally bleak.
Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Jane sat in the back seat of the Towncar with Lorelei, a buzzcut hulk of a man in a dark suit and sunglasses their driver. They were all quiet as they drove out of Las Vegas proper, farther into the wildness of the desert. Lorelei had spent a good ten minutes on the phone speaking to Red John, Jane assumed, though he couldn't hear what was spoken on the other end, and Lorelei only answered in succinct sentences that gave away nothing of the true conversation. She hung up with a smile at Jane, and a reassuring pat on his knee.
"It's okay. Red John has taken care of everything for you. He's so thoughtful in that way." She leaned forward and spoke to the driver: "Go to Joshua."
"Yes, Ma'am."
Jane lifted an eyebrow. "Joshua?"
She smiled mysteriously. "You'll see."
Soon they came upon what looked like an oasis, a newly constructed housing addition appearing blurry in the heatwaves of the horizon. Hulk turned down a quiet paved road past a sign announcing Joshua Tree Estates. It was immediately apparent that no one was living in the neighborhood, and Jane looked curiously out the window at the languishing construction.
At the end of the cul-de-sac, the car drove into the empty driveway of a completed house.
"Nice place. Why are we here," Jane asked.
"Since you are now a fugitive from the law, this is your temporary safe house. You'll stay here until Red John can meet you."
Jane's stomach did a little flip in a mixture of relief and excitement.
He believed me. I'm in.
It took all he had not to laugh out loud.
Lorelei took his hand and gave it a squeeze. "Here you are at last, Patrick. The first step toward your new life."
She leaned over and kissed his mouth. He kissed her back, but his thoughts were with Lisbon, hoping with all his heart that Earl Madison had gotten her someplace safe.
Lorelei pulled away, her eyes glassy with desire. She caressed his cheek.
"Red John has such great plans for you."
Then she pulled away from him and reached for the door. "Let's go in."
Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Lisbon heard the car in the driveway and went to the front window, gingerly lifting a slat of the mini-blind. But it wasn't Earl's van, and she watched a moment as the car idled in the drive, its tinted windows hiding the occupants. Fearing she might be seen, she dropped the blind before bolting toward the kitchen and grabbing a carving knife from the cutlery block. Taking her weapon, she hurried upstairs into the master bathroom, locking the door behind her. She silently prayed that if it wasn't Earl, it would be the police, that Red John hadn't somehow found her. She thought of setting off the alarm system by opening a window, but if it was Earl in a different vehicle, she would risk blowing her whole cover. Then again, if it wasn't him—well, she hoped that help would be able to get there fast enough if the strangers tripped the alarm. An image of a smiling bloody face flashed in her mind, and she huddled to the right of the door, her heart pounding in her ears.
She heard the front door open downstairs, then a pause. After thirty seconds, there was no harsh warning from the alarm system, so maybe it was Earl after all. She waited for him to call out for her, but when she heard her name, the voice that spoke it took her back to one of the most uncomfortable moments in her life, when she'd hidden in a closet in a crappy motel room.
"Teresa! You can come out now. Patrick and I are here and everything is okay."
In the living room, Jane's heart dropped into his belly.
Fuck.
"Call her," said Lorelei to Jane, her eyes now cold and businesslike.
When he didn't do as he was bid soon enough, she brought out her weapon from the back waistband of her cocktail uniform and pointed it at his head. Hulk stood at the ready near the door, his own weapon appearing in his hand.
"Call her," Lorelei repeated in annoyance.
He swallowed hard. "Lisbon!" His first try was hoarse with dread, but he cleared his throat and called her name more loudly.
In the bathroom, Lisbon considered her situation. The cops weren't coming. With a sinking heart, she realized Earl was likely working for Red John. There were no windows in the bathroom to crawl out of. The woman, whom Lisbon assumed was Lorelei, was probably threatening Jane at that moment, and it wouldn't take long for them to find her in this bathroom.
Resigned, she unlocked the door and made her way to the stairs, knife still in hand.
"Where's Earl?" she asked after immediately assessing the situation. It occurred to her then, to her horror, that they might have gotten the alarm code before they killed him.
"Teresa Lisbon," said Lorelei brightly. "I've heard so much about you."
Lisbon's frightened eyes met Jane's, saw the deep regret in his. But then her training kicked in, and she became ethereally calm. She descended the stairs, noting Hulk's gun trained on her, Lorelei's on Jane.
"I've heard about you too," replied Lisbon icily, stopping at the foot of the stairs.
"I'll bet," Lorelei said with a knowing smirk. She nodded toward Lisbon's weapon. "Drop the knife please, Teresa." Lisbon did so reluctantly, wishing she was good enough with knife throwing that she could hit Lorelei between the eyes. It made hardly a sound as it fell onto the soft carpet.
"In answer to your question," Lorelei continued, "Earl is back at the police station, I imagine," said Lorelei with a smile.
Jane's eyes widened slightly at this realization. How could he have read things so wrong?
"What are we doing here?" asked Jane. "Did your boss need a quieter place to torture us?"
Lisbon's cool was momentarily shaken. She frowned at Jane. Why give them any ideas?
Lorelei chuckled. "Of course not. If Red John had wanted to torture you, he could have done it in the middle of the freakin' Strip, and no one would have even noticed. No, Patrick, he wants to punish you for your deception, but he still believes in you and wants to give you a way to make things right."
"Really?" said Jane skeptically.
"Of course. Red John believes in second, and sometimes even third chances."
"Lucky me."
"Definitely," said Lorelei, and suddenly, she slid the magazine out of her gun. Like a magician beginning a trick, she showed them it was empty, then put it back into the grip with an efficient click.
"There's one bullet left in the chamber," she said, and carefully placed the gun on the coffee table before the white couch. "In twenty-four hours, Red John expects one of you to be dead, or at lease mortally wounded. No offense, Teresa, but he'd really like that person to be you, though he understands that life doesn't always go the way we plan. And since you're a CBI agent and all, he knows that with your expertise, you have the advantage here."
Jane and Lisbon looked at each other in horror, then back at Lorelei.
Jane's tone was icy. "You may as well just shoot us both now because we won't be playing your little game."
Lorelei sighed, then reached into her cleavage and took out her cell phone. Jane and Lisbon watched as she pressed a couple of buttons on the screen, then pulled up a video, the image somewhat shaky and blurry at first, probably taken with a cell phone camera.
"Red John thought you might feel this way, so he sent this to me earlier today."
She pressed the arrow for play and turned it so jane and Lisbon could see. It was the rest of their team around the bull pen conference table back at CBI Headquarters, Wainwright speaking to them about Lisbon's apparent death. After about ten seconds, the video ended, and Lorelei returned her phone to its hiding place.
"If you choose not to play, Red John will bring one of your friends into the light; the ultimate gift of freedom. I think he's leaning toward the redhead. He likes redheads."
"Dear God," said Lisbon softly, and unbidden, the image came to mind of Van Pelt, lying in a pool of blood, her pretty neck cut, her torso mutilated. Lisbon felt sick.
"You have a mole in the CBI," commented Jane.
"Yes," she said. "More than one, actually. But that's beside the point. I think you understand what's really at stake here, Patrick. It's either one of you or one of them. Red John is all about free choice in this world, but he's not above giving you a little push toward your goal of starting your new life. Like I told you, Teresa is your last tie to your old life. This will show that you really are ready."
"What if I kill Jane?" asked Lisbon. "I'm sure your boss will give me the same royal treatment he's planned for Van Pelt."
Lorelei shook her head. "No. He's promised to set you free, with no consequences for your colleagues back home. Confidentially, I think Red John admires you, Teresa. Why do you think he's let you live all this time? He told me he realizes that you care about Patrick just as much as he does, and that Patrick cares for you. He finds your relationship inspiring. So, yeah, I believe you can trust his promise to let you go, with no hard feelings."
"He's bluffing," said Jane. "There's some trick here, and I for one certainly don't trust that he'll keep his promises."
Lorelei was offended. "Red John is an honorable man. He always does what he says he'll do. And besides, what choice do you have now than to follow his rules?"
Jane glanced at the gun. "I could just kill myself, save everyone, if Red John's word holds true."
He tried to ignore Lisbon's soft gasp.
Lorelei shrugged. "I suppose you could. He didn't mention that particular contingency. He just said one of you must be dead by tomorrow. I don't think he cares how that happens. But I for one would be deeply disappointed, Patrick. After all, you've gone on after losing your family without killing yourself; I would hate to see you waste all your potential like that. You are destined for much greater things, I know it."
She began to move toward the door, Hulk's gun still pointed in their direction.
"So, you're just going to leave us here to work this out, eh?" said Jane.
"Like all of life, this is a test. I really hope you pass it."
Shielding herself from view, she quickly tapped in the alarm code to arm it. "And don't think about trying to leave. Red John will know. The alarm will summon him, not the police. It'll be best for everyone if you just play by the rules. I hope to see you tomorrow, Patrick. Teresa, nice meeting you."
The door clicked shut behind them, and a minute later, they heard the car back out of the driveway and pull away down the empty street.
Alone, Lisbon and Jane looked at each other, at first with nothing to say. She figured they were both in shock.
"Lisbon—" Jane began, stepping toward her.
She brought up a hand. "Don't. We're both equally to blame for where we are. Let's just figure out how the hell we're going to get out of this. First though, I need a pick-me-up."
She strode purposefully to the kitchen, opening cabinets in search of something to drink. It would have been nice to have found some scotch, but a can of coffee was the best she could find. She filled the coffee maker on the counter. "There's some orange pekoe in here too," she said, setting the small box of Lipton's near the coffee tin.
Jane couldn't find a tea kettle, so he heated some water in a saucepan.
The everyday tasks seemed to calm them, and soon they were both leaning against the counter, mugs in hand.
"Well, we know that the team back home knows about my death," said Lisbon, sipping her dark brew. "I wish we could have seen more of that video, to find out if they know I'm not really dead, and what they're planning to do."
"I think Cho will have figured it out. I'll bet they are on their way out here as we speak."
"Maybe. But how will they ever find us out here by tomorrow at this time?"
Jane was at a loss. "I totally misjudged your good friend Officer Madison."
"God, don't blame yourself. That part is definitely my fault. We weren't that close, and I made the mistake of trusting someone I didn't know well. Having a badge apparently doesn't mean anything when it comes to Red John. Those moles he has in the CBI…"
"I guess it wasn't a case of his being followed. I take it they both knew the alarm code," Jane suggested.
"Yeah," she said forlornly. "I almost wish they'd killed him rather than him being one of Red John's minions. Does that make me a terrible person?"
Jane shook his head. "Not at all. So let's agree now to stop beating ourselves up for all the mistakes we've made."
"Deal," she said, and smiled a little over her coffee. He returned her grin, but it didn't meet his eyes.
"Why is Red John doing this?" she asked.
"Why does he do anything? He likes the power trip, the control over life and death. I used to wonder why he hasn't killed me or anyone on the team, but then I realized that it's all part of the game, the cat toying with the mouse. He likes believing that he can stop playing anytime and consume me and everyone I care about. He genuinely wants me to join his cult, because that would be the ultimate victory—turning his nemesis into his slave."
She saw the sick truth in what he said, and they grew quiet again, gathering their thoughts. Then Jane began looking curiously around the house.
"No one's lived here before," he stated.
"No. It's a model home," she said, retrieving the knife from the living room floor and setting it in the sink. "Earl said they ran out of money to finish this housing addition."
She watched from the kitchen as he picked up tasteful knick-knacks around the living room, placed there for show like movie set decorations. A thought occurred to him, and he turned back toward Lisbon.
"You think the place is bugged? That maybe Red John is listening, or even watching us?"
He remembered how the killer had set up video monitors in another house he'd been to that belonged to Red John. Lisbon set down her mug, joining him as they began searching for bugs or cameras. It felt good to have something constructive to do. After a half-hour of looking, they had found nothing, and Lisbon ruled that if there were any surveillance devices present, Red John had hidden them better than she knew how to find them.
"Well that's a plus, anyway," he said, and plopped down on the firm couch. He grimaced at the lack of comfort he was used to in a couch, suddenly missing his old brown leather one at the CBI. She joined him, leaning her head back and closing her eyes. She could think of nothing else to do, and she feared she'd go crazy long before Red John came for them the next day.
She opened her eyes to find Jane staring at the gun on the coffee table, and her heart squeezed in her chest.
"Don't even think about it," she said. "That is not the way to solve this."
She reached boldly for his hands and he was so surprised at her touch he turned to look at her.
"Please, you have to promise me, Jane."
"It would solve so many things," he told her seriously, his eyes bleak.
"No," she said. "It would make things worse, don't you see? I am convinced that if Red John can be stopped, you are the only person alive that can do it. And if you were to—to end things, where does that leave me? Where does that leave the scores of others he might kill before someone finally ends him, or he decides at last to stop?" She felt tears stinging her eyes, and she closed them briefly, then tried in vain to blink them away.
He reached up and wiped away one stray drop with his thumb, his fingers slipping into her hair.
"Promise me," she whispered.
"Okay," he said at length, for when she looked at him like that, he could refuse her nothing.
Lisbon felt such relief that she practically threw herself into his arms, embracing him tightly, her damp face in his neck, his soft curls tickling her cheek. His arms pulled her closer, and he closed his eyes tightly, breathing her in, his heart pounding in time with hers.
She felt his first kiss against her neck, and her own pulse fluttered frantically, like a butterfly in a jar. He moved his lips along her jawline, stopping just to the side of her mouth, lingering there, as if waiting for permission. All she need do was turn her head slightly, and his lips would meet hers.
"Jane," she said, his name hitching in her throat.
She turned her head.
His mouth trembled upon hers, but this time he was not out of his mind with fear, his adrenalin not coursing coldly through his veins. His lips were warm and tentative, slow and seductive, coaxing her to open and let him inside. With a small moan, he invaded her mouth with his tongue, sliding it deftly over hers, adjusting his head to go deeper. Lisbon complied mindlessly, her body going weak with desire as he held her, his hands sliding from her hair to her back, pulling her closer still until she was practically on his lap.
For a few breathless moments they forgot about everything but the heady taste of their fused mouths, the touch of seeking hands, the scrape of blonde whiskers against soft cheeks. It was all very surreal, but at the same time, each felt as if they had been kissing for years, so right and natural did it seem to have his lips moving over hers.
She didn't know how she got there, but soon his suit coat was on the floor and she was on her back on the couch, Jane's body pressing against hers. She could feel his arousal against her stomach. His hands slid beneath her shirt, caressing her torso, then tracing the underwire of her bra. Her fingers slid into his hair as their passion rose, and she lifted her hips to meet his. He groaned into her mouth, and she felt the sudden power of her femininity, the wonder that she could excite a man like Jane with her touch.
He broke free of her lips and she gasped for air, but then he moved to her neck and her throat, kissing a trail to the first button of her blouse. She felt his hot, wet tongue settle into the sweet indentation at the base of her throat, while his fingers worked now at the buttons. In her excitement, Lisbon pressed too hard against the lump at the back of his head. He moaned again, but this time in pain.
"Oh my God, Jane, I'm so sorry," she said, belatedly remembering the injury she'd inflicted earlier. "Are you okay?"
The pain was enough to bring him back to his senses, and he sat up, easing his back against the couch, his breath coming in harsh pants. She lay where she was a moment, trying to settle down, her cheeks flushed with desire and embarrassment. She watched him close his eyes tightly against a wave of nausea.
"I'm—I'm fine. I probably shouldn't be ravaging you with a concussion."
She smiled at that. Ravaging was exactly what he was doing. Well, what they both had been doing. "Sorry to have encouraged you in your condition. I guess I'm bound and determined to make you sick."
He opened his eyes and his lips formed his familiar smile, though his eyes were dark with arousal.
"Come here," he beckoned, and she sat up, snuggling into his side while his arm settled upon her shoulders. "We are constantly afflicted with the curse of bad timing."
"I didn't think you believed in such things," she said, inhaling the masculine scent of soap, cologne, and clean sweat.
His eyes settled once more on the gun not two feet away from them on the coffee table.
"I didn't use to," he admitted, "before today." He kissed her temple sweetly.
"We're going to find a way out of this. I have faith. God will show us the way, and our team won't let us down."
For once he didn't mock her faith, because a part of him longed to believe in something as strongly as she did.
"I hope you're right, Teresa," he said. "I truly do."
A/N: Still a lot of questions, I know, but please stay with me. More romance and intrigue ahead. Thanks again for reading.
